


Lucky Dog

by BeneficialAddiction



Series: Better an Ounce [2]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blowjobs, Clint thinks he's punny, Kink, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Puppy Play, Sexual puppy play, Tails, rolled-up newspaper, swatting not spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22233850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeneficialAddiction/pseuds/BeneficialAddiction
Summary: Clint and Phil (and Lucky!) explore a different side of puppy play.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Series: Better an Ounce [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600402
Comments: 32
Kudos: 157





	Lucky Dog

**Author's Note:**

> A fluffy, sexy little follow-up to Gettin' Lucky - but you can probably read it without reading the other first. Though really, why wouldn't you? ;)

It’s been a year since Agent Barton had come to SHIELD. In that time he’s come a remarkably long way, though, to be fair, he’d started out so far ahead of their usual recruits it was almost laughable. He’d blown through his prelims, tested out of most of his qualifiers, and obliterated several records along the way. He and Natasha have made a name for themselves above and beyond what they’d started with as Hawkeye and the Widow, putting down thier challengers with ease and making friends in some surprising places. Now they’re learning to fly quinjets and being asked to teach courses on advanced espionage, and Agent Phillip J Coulson could not be prouder if he tried. 

It’s been six months since Clint had moved into Phil’s apartment. It was probably too soon, they had both acknowledged that, but the more time they spend together the more compatible they realize they are and it just seems silly to waste that. They like the same movies, the same pizza, and the same casual sports teams, and they like each other. They like same things in bed, and the more they explore puppy play, the more they seem to like of that too. 

Lucky’s got his ears now, and his doggie bed and his toys, and they’ve talked about possibly attending an event some time, maybe Woofstock in Chicago to meet other players. 

Life is good. 

Not counting work or missions, nothing’s really gone wrong in the whole thing. 

Makes sense then that something finally does. 

It starts out like a normal play session – Clint has been off on medical leave for a light sprain in his ankle and Phil had come home just after lunch having finally finished up a month-long project that had kept him at the office late for far too long. When he gets there Clint is stripped down to his underwear and his ears, and spends his time batting a rubber ball around the bathroom floor while Phil showers. 

Maybe that’s what sets it all off, he doesn’t know. Lucky doesn’t usually follow him into the bathroom – he only leaves the door open so they can hear each other. When he gets out the curious pup snuffles around his ankles and laps a drop of water off the back of his knee while he’s distracted with wrapping a towel around his waist, making him jump. Phil scolds him and shoos him out, kicking his ball into the hallway for him to chase while he gets dressed in a pair of flannel lounge pants and a t-shirt. He seems... hyper, more energetic than usual, and something else that Phil just can’t put his finger on until it’s nearly an hour later and Lucky is still dashing around the living room, rolling over and around and bouncing up again, brushing past Phil’s legs as he rounds the couch again and again. 

He’s _frisky._

“What’s gotten into you huh?” Phil asks absently, opening his newspaper as Lucky lolls and rolls around near his feet. “Full of it tonight aren’t you.” 

Beyond the paper Lucky whines, high-pitched and long, thumping down onto the floor. 

Phil peers at him over the top of his paper before retreating again – the pup seems a bit agitated, frustrated and grumbly, but there doesn’t seem to be anything really _wrong_ with him. He’s a few paragraphs in to an article on a strange UFO sighting over the southern Burroughs when he feels Lucky snuffling around his ankles, bumping against his shins. Not all that strange, not alarming, and Clint usually curls around his knee when he wants to start coming up, but then suddenly Lucky’s humping his leg and Phil’s heart is in his throat and he panics. 

“Lucky no!” he yelps, but it comes out a bit loud, a bit angry and his natural reaction is to crumple the paper in his hand and swat the pup away, pages flapping around his ears. 

Lucky, Clint – _hell_ – just huffs at him, rumbles grumpily and rolls away, across the living room floor and up against the wall where his bed’s been dragged, landing on his back with his hips rolling, erection tenting his boxers. 

Phil, well, Phil kinda freaks out a little. 

His heart is pounding out of his chest but his mind is racing even faster, because they’ve never done this, never talked about this, and he hadn’t meant to yell and he knows Clint doesn’t like it and oh god, he hadn’t meant to _hit him..._

“Y...yellow,” he stammers out. “Clint, I... I think I need you to come up now.” 

Clint, who has rolled over onto his stomach and has his face buried in his dog bed, his arms wrapped around it in a way that suggests he’s already halfway there, just groans. 

Phil licks his lips, takes a few deep breaths while Clint pulls himself upright, forces himself to reach for his Agent Coulson Calm. 

Clint just sighs, rubs his hands roughly over his face which pushes the little headband attached to his ears off and onto the floor. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, blushing and turning slightly away before setting his teeth to the velcro straps of his wrist protectors. 

“God, Clint, no, _I_ should be,” Phil argues, running a hand through his hair. 

“Why?” 

“Because I hit you.” 

And Clint, well, Clint, who is always so steady, actually stutters in his movements and turns to look at Phil with a dumbfounded incredulity that actually makes him feel foolish. 

Then he snorts, and though it’s an indelicate sound and a semi-inappropriate response it cuts through the tension like a knife and Phil can breathe again. 

“I appreciate that babe,” he says, his teeth still working the straps around his wrists, “But you didn’t hit me. You swatted at me with a newspaper. Didn’t get it all the way rolled up first but at least you made an effort at the theme.” 

This time Phil looks away, and the sigh Clint heaves is colossal. 

“Hey.” 

A touch to his knee brings Phil back around to face the man now kneeling at his feet. 

“You’ve scolded me before Phil,” he says softly, eyes wide and sincere, a smile touching the corner of his mouth. “That was fine, I promise. But I know I... shouldn’t have sprung this on you.” 

He makes a vague gesture in the vicinity of his lap and Phil utters a weak laugh. 

“Yeah,” Clint chuckles softly, blushing again and rubbing the back of his neck as he ducks his head. “I know. I mean... I _don’t..._ know. Where that came from. I’ve never really wanted... or at least I never thought...” 

“Come up here a minute?” 

Clint breathes, more easily this time, and climbs into his lap with a smile that’s a lot softer and more relieved than before. It takes a minute for them to get themselves situated on the couch but Clint ends up sitting between Phil’s legs and leaning back against his chest, all wrapped up together and it’s good, it’s better. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Phil asks, pressing a kiss to his temple, nuzzling in close. 

Clint notes the way his arms tighten around him and smiles. 

“Do you? I’m ok Phil, I promise. I’m not upset about the newspaper thing.” 

“I don’t like that I swatted at you just because I was... reacting.” 

“I get that,” Clint allows, snuggling deeper into his arms. “We didn’t talk about it first.” 

“Is it something you want to negotiate now?” 

“Not really,” Clint shrugs. “Like, it’s not something I want to play with on purpose. But I guess, going forward, if you need to scold me for something I kinda like it as an option?” 

The giggles start after a minute of surprised silence goes a long way to help with the lingering tension and the next thing Phil knows they’re sitting up again, leaning their shoulders together and holding hands on top of Phil’s thigh. 

“We’re ok?” he asks, bringing Clint’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. 

“We’re ok. Supposed to be fun right?” he points out. 

“Right. So what about the other thing?” 

A moment of silence passes while Clint chews his lip, thinking, then glances over at him slyly. 

“I’d make a crack about you giving a dog a bone,” he says with a grin and a glint in his eye, “But I feel like maybe it’s too soon.” 

Phil snorts and rolls his eyes. 

“Never happened before,” he points out. “Were you just horny to start?” 

“I think maybe that’s part of it?” he says, his voice tilting upward to turn the statement into a question. “I’m still me when we play, and you’re still you. So you’re safe, and sexy, and my partner. So I guess it just felt ok to do? I don’t know.” 

“You don’t have to,” Phil says. “Not right now. Not ever if you don’t want to, or can’t figure it out.” 

Clint closes his eyes and smiles, snuggles in closer. 

“That’s why it happened,” he murmurs, laying his head on Phil’s shoulder. “Cause you’re safe, and cause it’s so easy to do this. We just... talk about it, and agree on it, and then we do it or we don’t. ‘S good.” 

“Yeah,” Phil says with an easy sigh, lacing their fingers together and lifting Clint’s hand to kiss his knuckles. “It’s really good.” 

****

AVAVA

They don’t talk about it again for a while and it’s fine – they're not avoiding it. It simply doesn’t come up and they’re both happy enough continuing on the way they have been. Phil enjoys his time with Lucky and some casual play, and their love life is as good as it’s always been. Then one day Phil comes home late to find Clint sitting on the couch in his underwear, frowning and staring off into space with Lucky’s bandana and wrist guards on the cushion beside him and well... maybe they had ought to talk about it.

Sitting down next to him, Phil wraps an arm around his shoulders and pets his hand over his hair, an act that’s half Clint, half Lucky and so seems to be appropriate either way. 

Clint blinks, glances over at him and smiles before bopping his head against Phil’s shoulder. 

“Haven’t figured it out yet then?” he asks, and Clint shakes his head, slouches lower into the couch. 

“Guess not,” he admits, rubbing his hand over his inner thigh. “I don’t know, I wanted to play and then I got horny and...” 

“You’ve been on mission for a while,” Phil points out, leaning over to press a kiss to his temple. “I haven’t seen you in two weeks.” 

“So what, you think I’m just primed?” he asks. “Like we could just have regular sex and then I could be Lucky tomorrow and it would all be fine?” 

“If you want. Or...” 

“Or?” he urges, bumping Phil’s knee with his own. “Come on, you’re the best strategic planner I know; you’ve gotta have something in there you’ve been thinking about.” 

“I thought perhaps we might try a scene,” he says. “Negotiate it first, decide what we want to try, and then do it on purpose. That way you have all the data available to decide how you want to move forward. That is, if it’s something you’re actually interested in. Curious about.” 

“Is it something _you’re_ interested in?” Clint asks, and Phil has to pause and think about that. 

He’d been so focused on what Clint might want he hadn’t really... 

“I’m not opposed to it,” he says finally. “At least not right now. As I’ve said, I’d rather try it on purpose and then decide...” 

Clint hums, and for a while that’s it. They turn on Dog Cops and Phil goes to the bedroom to change into his sweats, and while he’s doing it Clint puts away Lucky’s gear and pulls on a pair of his own. They reheat some leftover Pad Thai and eat it on the couch, and later, when they’re brushing their teeth for bed, Clint hugs him tight and close. 

“I’ll think about it,” he murmurs, his face buried in the curve of Phil’s neck. “Tonight just love me?” 

Phil slides his arms around Clint’s waist and kisses his jaw. 

“Always.”

**AVAVA**

Clint brings it up a few more times after that and seems genuinely open and curious about it, but hesitant at the same time. Phil wonders if this comes from the submissive sort of headspace that comes with playing Lucky, and so takes a chance in taking a bit of control to help things along. He spends quite a bit of time on all the old sites he’d bookmarked when he’d first met Clint and started this thing, taking particular interest in the tags marking sexual puppy play.

He thinks the biggest hurdle in all of it might be his own inexperience and insecurities. In scouring the internet he’d certainly come across some things that he was uncomfortable with, and one of those things had been the idea of sexual age-play. He hadn’t liked the idea of that at all, and while intellectually he knows it’s not about having sex with children, it’s still too close for comfort especially given some of the things he’s seen in his line of work. It’s not a far stretch to start thinking about sexual puppy play in the same manner – he has no desire to have any kind of sexual contact with an animal and he worries how that will translate when he and Clint actually get into a scene. 

He’d told him at the beginning that it wasn’t about bestiality. He gets that, and it feels entirely honest, on both their sides. He considers the way he plays with Lucky now, treating him as a dog but not as a _dog._ Yes, Phil pets Lucky and plays with Lucky and teaches Lucky tricks, but he’s still aware at the back of his mind that it’s still _Clint_ in front of him. He doesn’t scrub his nails over Clint’s ribs the way Jasper does with the bigger dogs at the shelter, he doesn’t feed him dog food or expect him to go out to pee on fire hydrants. It’s a game they’re playing – he’s not a real dog. 

He’s Phil’s partner, a grown man who can make his own decisions and give his own consent. 

They’re not doing anything wrong, just something a little different, because it allows them to throw away some of their inhibitions and responsibilities in a safe space and _play._

Maybe they’ll enjoy it and maybe they won’t, maybe they’ll laugh and find it all too silly to even get through, but they’ll be doing it together, safely and willingly. 

As it should be. 

So he clicks over to the site they buy their toys from and picks out a slim, silicon plug with a tapered puppy tail attached. Clint has never talked about getting a tail, even though Phil knows they make them for non-sexual play as well, tails that attach to belts or waistbands, but he thinks this might be a good way to break the ice, dip their toes in the pool so to speak. They’ve played with plugs before – something they both enjoy – and so he hopes that it will be something to help them transition from one thing to the next. 

It arrives on a Wednesday when they’re both at the start of three-days' downtime after an op in Venezuela. Clint mostly ignores it when he brings the mail up from the post-room in the lobby – Phil gets enough paperwork couriered over from HQ that he had long ago lost his immediate curiosity in such things. That changes when Phil brings it over to the couch and places it in his lap, interrupting his labeling of some of his trick arrows. 

Clint cocks a curious eyebrow at him when he sits down in the nearby armchair, watching carefully to gauge the archer’s reaction, but when he finally gets the box open he actually looks... excited about what’s inside. 

“Yeah?” he asks, a grin on his face and a light in his eyes. 

“I thought we could try, if you’d like,” Phil allows, and Clint’s grin widens. 

They talk about it of course. For an hour or more. What exactly it is they want to try, what they absolutely do not want to try. They decide that intercourse is off the table for now – it's too much and they both seem to squirm away from the idea – and when it comes down to planning they both agree that they’d just like to play about a bit, see what happens and where it will take them. They come up with a couple of different safewords and gestures, and Phil promises aloud (unnecessarily says Clint) to keep an eye on the thing overall, since they’re not sure how verbal Clint will be. 

The next night the archer heads to the bathroom to shower and Phil waits in the living room till he hears him settle in the bedroom, then gets up and walks slowly to the doorway. There he finds Clint spread out on his back in the middle of the bedspread, wearing a pair of boxers and a soft, dopey-sort of smile. He looks sleepy, halfway down, and the gentle light from the bedside lamp casts the whole room in a soft, golden glow. 

“Hey there sweetheart,” he murmurs, pushing off the doorframe and walking slowly toward the bed, slipping out of his shirt as he goes. “How’s my good boy?” 

Clint’s brow furrows a little even as his gaze tracks Phil’s movements, his eyes going dark as he climbs onto the bed to loom over him, brushing one hand through his hair. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Phil explains, knowing where his confusion comes from. “Clint or Lucky, you’re always my good boy. Always my love.” 

Clint’s eyes flutter shut and he sucks in a deep breath, his chest expanding. Phil takes the opportunity to slide his hand down the man’s chest, over the thick straps of muscle down to his belly where he tickles his side with his fingertips. Clint wriggles, whines high and long the way Lucky does, and he leans down to run his nose up the side of Clint’s neck, breathing him in before lapping his tongue over his pulse point, nipping at the hinge of his jaw. 

“Phhhiii...” 

His name gets cut off, turned to another long whine and whimper as he thumbs at one of Clint’s nipples, pebbled with arousal, then follows with his tongue, sucking until Clint’s hips start to buck off the bed. 

“Mmm, yes, my good boy,” Phil murmurs against his throat, sliding his hands lower to pet his hips. “Does it feel good?” 

Clint whimpers and whines, apparently unable or unwilling to use his words, but he nods his head, checking in as they’d agreed. 

Relieved, Phil presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth and slides lower on the bed, rubbing over Clint’s erection with the flat of his palm before pulling his boxers down off his legs. Whatever they’re playing at, his dick is well on-board with the game, and springs up to slap against his belly full and flush. It’s pretty, and pretty irresistible as it always is, and Phil leans in to nuzzle at his balls, to breathe in the scent of him and rub his cheek against Clint’s inner thigh. Above him Clint groans deep in his chest, and he reaches back for the tail that had been left on a towel at the end of the bed. 

“My good boy,” he murmurs, placing the plug on Clint’s belly and giving his cock a few quick strokes. Clint gasps at the mixed sensations and arches up into his touch – the cool silicon against his abdomen, Phil’s hot fingers against his balls. “What do I have for my Lucky Boy huh? Is that your tail? Does my Lucky want his tail?” 

Clint – Lucky – whimpers and whines, squirms on the bed, his forearms coming up, his wrists and his fingers curving the way they do when he plays at having paws. His feet come up too, his legs falling open as he raises his knees, giving Phil plenty of room to move. He’d opened himself up in the shower earlier as agreed, so there’s less work to do than there normally is, so as to keep them both a little more in the moment. Phil wets the bulbous end of the plug with lube and rubs it hard against Clint’s perineum the way he likes, then pets his inner thigh with his free hand until he settles back onto the bed. He teases him a bit until Clint starts angling his hips toward him, a silent plea for more. 

The tail slips inside with one last push and they both sigh, sagging against each other as they both adjust to the mood, the sudden release of some strange tension. Phil finds himself half-hard, curled against Clint’s side with his face tucked against the other man’s throat and for a minute they just breathe. 

Then Clint, _Lucky,_ starts to whimper and whine, and then he’s rolling away and up onto his hands and knees, his paws. Phil watches as he tries to turn around, cranes his neck to look back over his shoulder, and then he’s stumbling around the soft mattress in a circle... _chasing his tail._

“What are you doing silly boy?” he asks, and Lucky _rowrfs_ and suddenly it’s like it always is, fun and light and easy and the last remaining tension evaporates. 

Nothing sexual happens that afternoon. 

Lucky bounces around the bed and then goes careening around the apartment, rolling over and chasing his tail and basically bouncing off the walls, and Phil can’t do anything except laugh helplessly. He’s always enjoyed watching Clint’s ass swagger around, so he hardly minds watching the playful pup wag his new tail happily. It’s a little awkward – since he‘s not wearing his customary boxers Clint’s dick is flopping around too - but he only seems to be distracted by it in a logistical sense, making sure not to pinch or bruise himself. Phil thinks about buying him some purple jockstraps while they play, and tugs on Lucky’s new tail a few times to make him yip, but eventually they find themselves back in the bedroom, Clint on his back panting as he comes back up and Phil sitting back against the headboard stroking his hair. 

“Mmm, ‘s good,” he murmurs as he slowly eases back into his body, stretching out his limbs in a very familiar way. 

“I thought so,” Phil murmurs, smiling when Clint cocks his head, a gesture that has always been part of both Clint and Lucky. 

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “I like the tail.” 

“I’m glad,” Phil agrees. “It’s cute. As much as I enjoyed that, it didn’t go quite the way we thought it would. Is the tail good for Lucky, or for Clint?” 

Clint thinks for a minute, his mouth quirked. 

“Both, I think? Like, I know we didn’t really _do_ anything except for the beginning, but I liked having the tail to play around. Didn’t really like my junk hanging out... feels like I’m asking for tragedy there...” 

“I’d thought of that,” Phil chuckles. “If you want to use the tail during your regular play sometimes we could get you some jockstraps.” 

“Yeah, and you’d like that too,” Clint teases, leaning over to bite at Phil’s thigh through his joggers. “But that’d be cool.” 

“Do you still want to go further? Want to try out the sexual side of it?” 

“I’m not _against_ it. I like what we did tonight, just sort of seeing where it goes. It feels like something that’s more likely to happen spontaneously, like it did that first time you know?” 

Smiling, Phil leans down and presses a kiss to Clint’s forehead. 

“Works for me,” he agrees, reaching back to tug on the tail Clint’s still wearing, eliciting a groan. “Now, shall I do something about this for you?” 

Grinning, Clint lunges at him and rolls them over into a kiss.

**AVAVA**

They play with the tail more often after that. Clint usually puts it in himself, then pulls on a jock, his ears, and his knee pads and comes to Phil for his bandana. Not much changes about their play except that Phil has a better view for a lot of it, and Clint seems to incorporate it into his Lucky persona as easily as breathing. Phil’s glad of it - he knows that Lucky is important to Clint as a coping skill, a way of relaxing after a mission, from his high-stress life. It’s similar for him though on a smaller scale, and he doesn’t want the idea or the pressure of adding sex to the game to ruin that for either of them.

He needn’t have worried. 

They play, and it’s fun and it’s easy and not much different at all, and they have sex just Clint and Phil and it’s deep and It's meaningful and it’s perfect. 

He can’t ask for more, doesn’t _need it._

Then more comes. 

It’s like any other afternoon really, any other play session. They’re both at home after a three-week op in Belgium, on a stint of mandatory downtime before their next big mission. Nat had come and gone after they’d finished up their regular debrief complete with take-out, movies, ice cream and a sleepover on the living room floor, and Phil’s parked in an armchair reading the paper while Lucky gambols about at his feet. They hadn’t talked about a scene or anything specific; Clint had just gotten into his gear and his headspace and they’d gone about their day. They’d played some fetch and wrestled on the rug, and when Lucky had gone off to drag his bed out from the office and flop out Phil had relocated and found something to read. 

He listens with half an ear as Lucky stumbles around, bumping into walls and the thumping down onto his bed. He’s moved on from the sports statistics to the advice column when he starts to grumble and growl, peers over the top of the paper to check on the pup, who’s rolling around with a stuffed animal and appears to be sporting the beginnings of a stiffie. He doesn’t think much of it – it happens sometimes when Lucky’s wearing his tail – and goes back to his paper, but the next thing he knows Lucky is sniffing around his pant legs and then suddenly clambering up into his lap in a way he very rarely does. 

“Hello,” he says, leaning back and away and trying to save his paper as Lucky paws at him. “Can I help you?” 

Lucky merfs at him and ducks his head, sniffing at Phil’s neck. It tickles the skin behind his ear and he shudders, his brain very suddenly sparking connections and sending heat flushing through his body. Lucky licks his neck, his throat in long, hot swathes and Phil pushes at him, urging him down onto the floor as the hair on his body stands up and his mouth goes dry, shaking his paper in a faux-scold. Lucky huffs and Phil disappears back behind the newsprint, sensing that too much attention might be a good thing and that giving Clint – _Lucky_ – space to figure it out on his own might be for the best. 

Less than a minute later Lucky’s head shoves up from beneath the edge of the paper and he’s pawing at him and sort of half-climbing up between his thighs and Phil swallows hard, his hand immediately going to Clint – shit, Lucky’s head and just... 

He doesn’t know. 

Doesn’t know if he’s grabbing on or pushing away or... what. 

Anticipation zings through him, a sense of wrong - the _naughty_ kind, not the _bad_ kind - and he finds himself breathing hard, his cock suddenly extremely interested and pressing against his zipper. Lucky’s whining and pawing at his thighs, pushing his body in between his knees, and it’s just like Clint. There’s no difference – it's his _boyfriend_ shoving his legs wide, broad shoulders and warm skin pressing close and taking up his space, hot mouth so close to where he wants it... 

It’s just like Clint offering a blowjob, hell, right down to being non-verbal about it, just going to his knees sometimes and begging, and oh god, _that..._

_Lucky’s begging._

Whimpering and whining, panting hot against his fly and then when Phil finally gets his dick out puts his wet, lolling tongue right to work. 

It’s hot, and it’s... maybe the weirdest blowjob he’s ever gotten. Mostly tongue and not much else, no swallowing or stroking or suction, and it takes a lot longer than it normally does for him to cum. When Clint wants to he can set Phil off within minutes the man is so talented, but Lucky is all licks and slurps and nuzzles, tongue running over Phil’s knuckles when he reaches down to help. Weird, but still hot, and by the time he does cum his chest is heaving and he’s sweaty at his temples and the relief from the tension in his tightened muscles is glorious. A few minutes later when his brain re-engages Lucky is lapping the semen off his belly and rocking against his leg, and Phil can’t do much more than stroke a hand over his head. 

“Good boy,” he huffs shakily, petting him and tugging on his ears. “Lucky’s my good boy huh?” 

Lucky whines, and he’s ended up straddling Phil’s lower leg, kneeling over his foot on the floor, so he shifts forward to press his shin against the full erection the pup’s now sporting, pushing up over the band of his underwear. Lucky whimpers and jerks his hips, clamping his front legs down over Phil’s thigh, and then he ducks his head and starts humping forward, hips pistoning against the soft flannel of Phil’s lounge pants. 

“That’s it good boy,” he murmurs, tilting his foot so that the top bumps against Lucky’s tail, earning a long, desperate whine. “Come on.” 

The pup keeps going, rocking back and forth between the two points of stimulation as he pants, flushed and shaking. Phil keeps petting him, holding on even as he starts to catch his own breath, murmuring to him until he suddenly goes stiff, the muscles in his shoulders locking tight. He trembles and shudders and then sags against Phil’s leg with all his weight, huffing open-mouthed against his thigh and hiding his face against Phil’s knee, and he just pets him through it, a semblance of their regular cuddling that he hopes will be enough. 

Minutes pass and fingers slowly unclench, and Clint rolls his head against Phil’s knee to blink up at him with eyes that slowly clear. 

“You ok sweetheart?” he asks, his voice low and rough, and Clint smiles at him dopily. 

“Yeah,” he hums, heaving a sigh and rolling onto one him to lounge against the side of Phil’s chair, staring up at him. “I’m good. That was... kinda weird right?” 

Phil chuckles and smiles down at him, combing a hand through Clint’s hair. 

“A little,” he agrees. 

“But not bad weird.” 

“No.” 

“Huh.” 

For a while they’re both quiet, just touching each other, Phil’s hand in Clint’s hair and Clint’s hand curled around his ankle. He can hear the archer thinking but he doesn’t seem upset so he lets him to it – he can wait until Clint’s ready to talk, until he knows what he wants to say. 

“I don’t wanna do it all the time,” he finally says some minutes later. “Maybe not even very often. But... I didn’t hate it.” 

“No,” Phil says. 

It’s not saying much, but he thinks it says all he needs to say, and Clint must think so too because he nods, almost to himself, and snuggles closer against Phil’s leg. He seems content to settle there, to stay, but they’re both messy and need cleaned up, and Phil, well he needs his boyfriend a little closer. 

“Come on,” he says quietly, pushing himself onto his feet and reaching down a hand to haul Clint up. “Let’s get cleaned up. I want a nap.” 

“With snuggles?” Clint asks, cuddling against him even as Phil turns him down the hall toward the bathroom. 

“Yeah,” he grins, tugging on Clint’s tail and making him yelp. “With snuggles.”


End file.
